


Favorite Damn Disease

by mangocianamarch



Series: Le Livre de L'un par La Dame Marciana [14]
Category: Elysium (2013)
Genre: F/M, GDI INSPIRATION DO YOU MIND NOT HITTING AT AWKWARD TIMES PLS N TNX, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, THERE'S LITERALLY NOTHING BUT SMUT OKAY, THIS IS THE FIC I'M GOING TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET FOR, don't judge me i haven't written smut in a long time, slightly dubcon if you squint, some violence towards women, yo i ficced a sharlto copley character how did that happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangocianamarch/pseuds/mangocianamarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4,104 words of pure PWP smut. This is what it's like being Agent M Kruger's favorite little toy.</p>
<p>(Warnings mentioned in notes in the beginning of the fic, please read carefully.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favorite Damn Disease

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for my beautiful friend [Livi](http://krugerstop.tumblr.com/)'s 21st birthday on October 21st, but inspiration hit, and as I haven't had inspiration hit me this hard in a long time, I didn't want to let it go, so I wrote and wrote and wrote anD THEN SUDDENLY 8 PAGES/4,104 WORDS OF SLIGHTLY DUB-CON READER SEX WOOPS. So basically, advanced happy birthday, Livi. XDDDDDDDDD 
> 
> Also, all my sub tendencies came out to play. I have very little regrets.
> 
> JUST A HEADS-UP: The reader character is assumed to be a female, and YES, KRUGER HITS HER ONCE, JUST ONCE, BUT HE DOES HIT HER. I'm not proud of it, but it was in keeping with my characterization of Kruger, who is NOT NICE TO WOMEN AT ALL. That's not a justification, and I swear, I will try to NEVER write a fic where a man hits a woman for the sake of it ever again, unless in a fair fight in a legit war or battle scene.
> 
> Also: WHO AM I KIDDING, IT'S DUB-CON. I mean, not ENTIRELY, but again, there's elements of it, and I'm not too proud of it, but I'm a lot less proud of writing a man hitting a woman. And this isn't my first dub-con either. 
> 
> TITLE STOLEN FROM NICKELBACK'S "FIGURE YOU OUT," obvs. It was just kind of perfect for the fic, the song I mean.

He returns home – and God, can it really be called that – to find dinner and you waiting for him. The dinner he seems pleased with. You, on the other hand, are still impertinently clothed, and you know it. You know this isn’t how he expected to see you, he had made himself perfectly clear before he had left you, and yet here you are, testing him again, _irking_ him again, risking his wrath.

And all because you find it _fun._

You can tell he’s angry by the way he doesn’t speak a word to you, just goes about as if you’re not even there. His sword comes off first, and when he shelves it, he treats it more carefully than anything he owns, more carefully than he treats you. The rest of his weapons join his sword, and then his armor is coming off, and he’s sitting himself forcefully down at the table, opposite you. You’re aware you’re looking at him rather expectantly, and pull your expression back. He doesn’t like it when you’re too eager.

He doesn’t even spare you a word of thanks, just scarfs down his dinner like there’s no tomorrow. It’s not the most attractive thing in the world, watching him in all his burliness and aggression basically tear apart the dinner you had slaved over, but this is the Kruger you’ve come to know and stay for. You don’t say a word, no matter what it is you’re feeling, because he doesn’t like to be disturbed while he’s eating.

It isn’t until he’s about ¾ of the way done with his food that he looks up at you again.

“You never learn, do you?” he asks, voice dangerously quiet, “You just never fucking learn.”

You’re pretty sure you’re not meant to answer that, so you instead fold your hands in your lap, pursing your lips. Maybe you’ve chewed off just a bit more than you had bargained for tonight.

“What did I say, eh?” comes Kruger’s rasp, “What did I fucking say? What did I want you to be when I came back?”

He stands, plate and glass in his hands, as you swallow down the lump in your throat and try to dull your arousal. “Ready,” you reply easily, “You wanted me to be ready for you.”

“You don’t fucking look ready to me,” Kruger answers, the plate and glass clanging together and against each other as he all but tosses them into the sink.

“I’m always ready for you,” you tell him, but if you thought this would please him, you’re wrong.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kruger hisses, “You know it doesn’t work that way.”

You bow your head slightly. Things are _not_ going the way you had hoped they would go tonight. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, and it elicits a derisive snort from him.

“Not yet you’re not,” he says, “But you very soon will be.”

That’s not a promise in his tone, that’s a threat. All the same, it sends heat shooting down your spine and to all the right places, and heaven help you if you shudder just a little with anticipation.

He orders you to stand, and you do, moving only where he tells you to. You end up half-seated at the edge of the already rickety table, your hands on either side of you, where Kruger can see them. When he starts to inch towards you, the look in his eyes is hungry. Predatory.

“I let you stay here,” he reminds you, “I let you fucking live under my roof, share my fucking food and sleep in my fucking bed because you had nowhere else to go, and all I asked in return was that you fucking do what I tell you to. And you can’t even manage that.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, and he backhands you. The pain stings sharp against your cheek, and you’re pretty sure you whimpered at the impact, and yet you’re wet and need him more now than you did 5 seconds ago. This is the creature he’s twisted you into, the kind of creature you wanted him to turn you into without knowing you wanted it at all. You want him, no matter what.

One hand is on your hip, the other dragging your sorry excuse for a skirt up. His eyes are locked onto your face, the rest of him pressing you and pinning you against the table, making sure you can’t get away.

“All I ever asked, _darling_ ,” he spits, “is a little respect and obedience. And what do you do? Huh? What the _fuck_ do you do?”

He emphasizes the curse by roughly shoving two fingers into you. You gasp openly, one hand flying to claw at his shoulder. He snorts again.

“Well well,” he chuckles darkly, “At least you remembered _that_. Shame you couldn’t have remembered anything else. This would have been so much more fun for you.”

As he speaks, he withdraws his hand until only the tips of his fingers are inside you, only to shove them roughly back in. He seems to relish the wet _squelch_ his fingers make as his fingers enter you, because you’re just that fucking wet for him, you just want him that much, and that _does_ things to him.

He sets a rather punishing pace with his fingers, pulling his hand upward and curling his fingers inside you because he knows _exactly_ how to make you scream for him, and that’s exactly what you do, your nails digging into his shirt, your legs parting almost of their own accord.

“What if I make you pay, little girl, eh?” Kruger threatens, “You know I love to watch you squirm when you want me to make you come, but I’m not exactly in a very giving mood right now.”

You whimper in protest. “Fuck, don’t,” you manage to plead, “Please, please, please, want you.”

“Not enough,” Kruger shoots back, “Not enough to do as I fucking ask.”

“Never again,” you beg, “Please, baby, just please, fuck me and make me come for you, I’ll be good, I promise.”

His other hand grabs you by your chin, and then his lips crushing are yours in a bruising kiss. Your mouth falls open almost automatically, and then his tongue is pushing inside, claiming you there as much as his hand is doing the same southwards. His hand is squeezing just slightly around your neck, just enough to put pressure on you but not enough to cut off your air, but _God_ , do you love it.

He’s possessive, is Kruger.

“You precious fucking little angel you,” he breathes when he pulls away. He withdraws his hand from between your legs without warning, leaving you weak-kneed and near falling to the ground. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving your face. “My precious little angel, with the sweet little cunt.”

And then suddenly he’s bending, and then he’s thrown you over his shoulder and carrying towards the bed, where he unceremoniously dumps you. “Don’t fucking move,” he warns gruffly, as he heads to where he’s housed his weapons. When he comes back to you, he’s got a dagger in his hand. “Lie back,” he tells you, “And _don’t fucking move_.”

You’re not sure what he has in store, what the dagger could even be necessary for, but you do as you’re told, reminding yourself to breathe, telling yourself he’s obviously not angry enough at you to...

No, you’re not going to finish that thought. You’re still here for a reason. He’s _kept_ you here for a reason.

He bends over you, the flat of the blade pressed against your skin. The cold of the metal is harsh against your heated skin. But then Kruger’s face is right up beside yours, and his other hand is stroking your hair almost sweetly.

“Shush, little girl,” he coos, and it sounds almost more dangerous than when he’s angry, “I won’t hurt you. You know I won’t hurt you, right? Not unless you want me to?”

You nod, because this part you know to be true. The three 6-inch scars on the back of your hip are testament to that. They weren’t made because he’d been angry. They had been made because you wanted him to mark you, to make sure that anyone who saw you knew who you belonged to.

“Good,” Kruger says, his voice all but a whisper, “Now don’t move.”

You can’t help but tense when the tip of the dagger lifts part of your clothing, and then with just a tiny twist, the blade is ripping into the fabric. Kruger’s other hand grabs the collar of your shirt as he brings his other hand down, tearing through your clothes with the dagger until you’re bared to him.

“Better,” he mutters, and the edge is back in his voice now, “Much better.” He tosses the dagger aside and pulls the ruined clothing off of you, ripping it in two with his bare hands. He kneels between your legs, takes your wrists and crosses them above your head and ties them together.  You don’t protest, not when the look on his face is causing your pussy to tingle with need. He uses the other piece of cloth to tie your bindings to the makeshift headboard, and now you really can’t move your arms.

“Perfect,” Kruger says, and he sounds almost affectionate. He kisses you again, deeper than before, and you can’t help but push up against him, hoping to get some contact, but no, the bastard is still almost fully dressed. There is, however, no denying or hiding the stiffness tenting his trousers and pressing against you. You move your hips against him, his hard-on slotting exactly where you need it to, and the friction is almost heavenly.

Kruger chuckles just a little, but then he stops you. “Don’t make me tie your legs down too, princess,” he warns you, and you still your movements obediently. You hope he’ll kiss you again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he moves lower, lips on your collarbone and sliding just upward until they find your pulse point. He sucks hard there, enough to make you squeak. But then there are teeth, and they’re hard against your skin, almost as if he’s trying to break through, and you yelp in pain. You feel him laugh against you, the vibrations rumbling through his body to yours, and then his tongue is soothing at the offended spot.

“Mine,” you hear him say as he moves lower again, “All fucking mine.”

Before you can even pull yourself together, his mouth is around one breast, the other tended to rather roughly by a hand. He rolls your sensitized nipple with his tongue, and then he’s pulling slightly with his teeth, and then suckling, the fucker is _suckling_ on you, and _fuck_ , does that feel good. You arch up, trying to push for more contact. He reminds you again exactly who is in charge by squeezing hard around your other breast.

You try to beg him with words instead, and that seems to work. He moves his lips to the other side, his hand still around it, and gives it the same treatment as the previous. It’s taking all of your will and strength not to thrust up against him. Your efforts are rewarded when he tongues down between your breasts, all the way down, dipping into your navel momentarily before he’s pushing your thighs further apart. But instead of moving where you so want him to, his mouth moves along your leg instead, nipping and sucking until he’s got it fully extended and resting against his shoulder. He wraps your other leg around his waist, and now you’re flush against him, your weeping sex exposed to him, his lap underneath you.

“You greedy little bitch,” he laughs as he grinds against you, his still clothed cock moving right up against your crease, “You want me bad, don’t you? Want me to fuck you so hard you forget your own name? Want me to make you come so hard you go blind? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you manage to breathe out, “Fuck yes, please, baby, want it.”

“But like I said,” he grinds out, licking at your ankle, “I’m not in much of a giving mood today.”

You’re pretty sure the sound that escapes your mouth is the most pathetic one he’s ever gotten out of you yet, but you can’t help it. He laughs again, because he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Look at that pretty little pussy,” he says, looking down at it but not touching it at all, “Look at it so wet for me. You want me in there, baby? Hmmm?” Every movement of his hips is thrusting yours upwards, and every thrust upwards opens you to him. You’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t so fucking hot to be looked at like that.

“Yes,” you reply obediently.

“What do you want on your pretty little pussy, princess?” he asks you, quickening the movement of his hips.

You choke back a moan before answering. “Your fingers,” you tell him truthfully, “Your mouth, your cock, fuck, anything you give me, just...fuck, _please_...”

“And why should I give you anything?” he shoots back, a finger circling under your thigh where your skin is sensitive, “When you were so fucking disobedient?”

“I won’t be again,” you swear to him, “Please, fuck, please, I’m sorry, I’ll do everything you ask.”

“You do beg so beautifully, babe,” he praises, “Fine then, but don’t think I’ll be as lenient next time.”

You barely have time to think up a response when he’s letting your leg go so that it falls to his side, and then his mouth descends on you at last, and you all but _scream_. He grips your hips in both hands and pulls you up flush against his face as he digs in, licking you open, sucking at your clit noisily and greedily. You’re _vibrating_ with want, and oh _fuck_ that tongue can be so fucking talented when it wants to be, and _shit holy shit_ it’s inside you, Kruger’s tongue is inside you, his fingers spreading you open so he can get as much of you as he can. You’re rocking against his face, moaning loudly, but he doesn’t seem to mind, at least not yet. You struggle against your bonds, but are helpless otherwise. He’s moaning against you, and the vibrations are almost too much for your over-sensitized quim to handle.

His other hand comes around and presses just above your slit and circles quickly. You groan out a loud curse, your back arching, as two fingers join his mouth. They’re back inside you, moving in quick, deep bursts even as Kruger’s tongue licks at your folds. There is nothing coherent coming from you now, and you can feel fire building in your belly.

That’s when Kruger stops, but he’s pulling you up with him as he moves into a kneeling position. His arms around your waist as he basically bends you on your shoulders, your lower regions up in the air, your legs splayed apart. He spits, and you feel it slide down your slit. But when his tongue touches you again, it doesn’t start at your slit. It touches the puckered entrance of your ass, dipping just slightly, and you jerk in his arms in surprise. You moan out his name, but he pays you no mind. He spits again, this time licking long from between your cheeks and all the way down to your clit. Your body can barely take it, and you twitch even as he holds you steady against him. With one strong arm, he keeps you flush against his chest while the other hand pushes two fingers into you again, fucking you as quickly and as roughly as before. You cry out, helpless and needy.

“Going to come, darling?” he teases through gritted teeth, sweat from his stunting movements plastering his hair to his forehead, “Going to fucking explode with my fingers all the way inside you?”

“Yes!” you scream, “Oh _God_ yes, please, fucking want it, oh my _God_.”

He curls his fingers, and smiles almost cruelly at the abrupt cry it pulls from you. “That’s it baby, beg for it,” he orders, “Beg me to make you come, you little slut, that’s it...”

And you do, because you want it bad enough, because he’s so fucking good at this, and because you promised you’d obey him. You think he’ll stop just before it happens, because he _has_ before, but right now he’s moving his hand even faster, until you forget you even know how to speak at all.

You come in a sudden burst of white, and then a cavalcade of colors behind your eyelids. You come freely, because he has pulled his hand out of you, and he’s watching you twitch and squirm and jerk around in his grip. You’re aware your screaming with how good it feels, but that’s just it – if you aren’t screaming, he didn’t do it right.

“Fuck me,” you moan breathlessly as you struggle to come down from your high, “Please, _shit_ , fuck me already, please.”

Kruger wastes no more words. Off comes his shirt, and then he’s pulling his belt free, and then his trousers are gone. The sight of his impressive erection finally freed and slightly colored with need makes you try to reach out and touch it, until the bindings stop you.

He’s inside you in one swift, unceremonious action. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your body arching up into him even as he’s watching your face. He grabs your jaw, and it falls slack. He spits into your open mouth as you inwardly take some savage pleasure in the fact that he’s panting too.

“Mine,” he says again, and then he kisses you hard. You swallow down his kiss, his spit, because you can’t touch him and keep him there, where you want him. When he pulls away, it’s too plant one hand on one side of your face, the other gripping your hip. He looks down to watch as he pulls himself out of you completely, only to thrust back in completely just as hard as the first time.

There’s some pain this time, just a little, just enough. And then he’s really thrusting into you, long but rough thrusts, and you fucking love it when he does it like this, because you can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you, and you feel so fucking _stuffed_ everytime he’s inside you.

He doesn’t look at you often. He never does anyway. You can’t blame him; the movement of his hips is pretty fucking hypnotic. Once he’s worked a steady rhythm, he moves his hand lower until he’s holding your thigh. You don’t need to be told twice; you wrap your legs around him, and he’s even deeper inside you now with every thrust.

“Faster,” you beg him, nearly forgetting to add, “Please.”

Luckily for you, he obliges this time. Curses both in English and in his native tongue fall from his mouth and onto your skin, and he grunts and groans. He bites into your shoulder, and the sting is delicious. You moan loud for him, and he cusses into your skin. Good. So _fucking_ good. Like it always is.

He’s hitting that magic spot inside you everytime, and it doesn’t take long before you’re teetering again, and the waves of a second orgasm start rolling inside you. You try to tell him as much, but it just spurs him on.

“Do it,” he says hoarsely, “Fucking come all over my cock.”

And with a drawn-out groan, you do. Your body pushes up against his, and you can feel your insides clenching around him and drawing him in and then trying to push him back out again as it loosens its grip, only to try and suck him back in deeper again.

Kruger pulls out of you completely and grasps your hips. “Turn,” he orders, but before you can fully comprehend and obey, he’s flipping you over. The position is a little difficult until you manage to get your arms untangled, and then he’s raising your hips up. With one quick lick from slit to between your cheeks to the small of your back, he pushes back inside you roughly, and this new angle is touching a different spot inside you now. His pace is merciless, his nails digging into your skin where he’s holding your hips steady so he can fuck into you exactly the way he wants to.

Your screams are muffled into the pillows and the mattress, but _fuck_ does he feel so good inside you. You can feel every inch of him, can hear every sound he makes. You want to touch him so bad, or maybe touch yourself because you want to come for him again, he loves it when you come for him. But he’s close, you can tell; his breathing is more ragged now, and he’s a lot less coherent. There’s a stunting to his rhythm, and his roughness is beginning to falter.

“Gonna come, sweetie,” he says raggedly, “Fucking move for me...fuck yeah, that’s it, just like that...You’re so tight, baby, so fucking hot and wet...My favourite little cunt...yes, that’s it...”

You’re mewling and whimpering as you struggle to keep a good pace that matches his. Your fingers could rip at the sheets and the pillows they’re holding on to so tightly, you feel so fucking good right now. His prick is hot and hard inside you, and you want it, holy shit do you want him coming inside you. He doesn’t always do it, but maybe this time...

“Are you my good girl?” he asks breathlessly, bent over so that his voice right in your ear, “Are you my sweet, obedient little princess?”

“Yes,” you promise, “Fuck yes, I’ll be good for you, always.”

“Say it,” he commands.

“I’m yours,” you answer, “I’m all fucking yours, baby.”

That does the trick. With one final, savage thrust, he’s coming inside you, growling and groaning right into your ear and onto your shoulder. You can feel the heat of his climax inside you, and can’t help contracting clenching with need. You want it all from him, want to milk every last drop from him if you can, coz he just feels too good and you don’t want to lose that ever. Ever.

He’s barely done when he pulls out of you and starts groping around for the knife. He moves with urgency as he cuts you loose. “Come here,” he says, lying back, “Bring that delicious cunt over here.”

He guides you until you’re sat on his chest, your thighs spread across his wide shoulders. Again, you’re on display for him, and you’re leaking slightly, and it would be humiliating and embarrassing if it wasn’t for the way he’s looking at you and your quim.

“Show me,” he says, and you don’t need to ask what it is he wants. You reach down and push a finger inside you, opening yourself for him. His seed trickles out of you, and you can feel the superficial tingle of it on your folds. With a growl, Kruger pushes his face between your legs again, and he’s licking you again. Your thighs quiver and you moan, nearly melting into nothingness if he weren’t holding you, and if you didn’t still have your own finger there.

His mouth moves away, only to be replaced with two of his own fingers again, pushing as far in as they’ll go. You’re stretched wide, but you know what he’s doing. You sort of love him for it, but you’ll never tell him that. He’ll lop your head off faster than you can apologize.

“You’re mine,” he says gruffly, fingers bending inside you, “All fucking mine. You remember that.”

You nod, because it’s all you can manage to do right now. Thankfully, it’s enough for Kruger, who lets you go at last, even pulls your hand away from you. He manoeuvres you until he can kiss you properly, your body held flush against him. You can taste the both of you in his kiss, and if you weren’t so tired, you’d be wet again just from that.

“Mine,” he says as he settles you on his chest.

“Yours,” you promise, and you mean it.

Because you have no choice really. He made you his a long time ago.

 

 

**_~ END. ~_ **


End file.
